


Summer Nights

by Fadesintothewest



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ardor in August, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Findekáno shares a night of passion with an unknown elf during a night of revelry. Maitimo gets more than he bargained for. Written for Ardor in August.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laSamtyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laSamtyr/gifts).



> A simple, not quite very plot driven, not very deep character study type of story. Just a bit-o-fun and apologies for the mistakes I’ve made (unbeta’d).

 

The sounds of laughter and whistling echoed through the empty streets of Tirion. The Grand Hall in the white palace of Tirion was awash with the warm glow of candlelight and the silver glow of Telperion. Couples spun, moving across the Hall with unbounded ease, enjoying the raucous dancing of summer harvest, a time of abundance and new life. It was a time of heat, the season that Yavanna dimmed the light of Telperion, casting deeper shadows on the verdant lands, where elf eyes had to search deeper into the recesses of darkness to look upon a lover’s face, reminding those that Journeyed of the darkness of Endórë lit only by starlight. It was a time of frivolity, of lovers searching for first kisses, marked by the bounties of plenty. On this night the elves of Tirion forgot for a time the routines and duties that they had invented during the long march of Time. On this luminous endarkened silver night, the elves that were born on the other side of the Sundering Seas, remembered what it was like for passion to rule the mind and body, remembered what it was like to give one’s self fully to the senses.

 

The lively music that filled the Great Hall came to an end, replaced by the voices of singers who took up a bawdy tune leading the crowds towards the gardens where more merriment would be found, merriment of a more sordid nature, some of which was forbidden, but on such nights of plenty, laws and customs were set aside. The Great Hall emptied, the gardens filled with elves carousing, playing an assortment of games, all of which ended in the ultimate pursuit of bodily passion. While some looked down upon the hedonistic tradition, no move was every made to curtail the festivities, which helped stabilize sentiments that at times bordered on insurgency. Thus in the name of political stability, the ruling Valar allowed such pursuits, if only for the greater good of Elvenhome.

 

The scent of gardenias permeated the silver night, intoxicating, like the whispers of things unknown that crossed still waters on such hot, arousing nights of darkness. Maitimo carefully and quietly made his way towards the hedge maze. His mind was set on finding him, at least, if only to see him. Those that spied Fëanáro’s eldest wished that they could be the object of the Prince’s attention for it was clear Nelyafinwë was in pursuit of someone. Weren’t they all? Maitimo heard the distinct silver laugh he sought, so much like his father’s and like his grandfather’s. Indeed so much like Nolofinwë’s. Maitimo pondered if he too shared in this trait? Maitimo paused, there he was. Maitimo watched Findekáno from afar, his cousin, son of his father’s brother--half-brother Maitimo reminded himself--a coy smile appearing on his face. Findekáno was an innocent yet, the blush of youth on his cheeks. But there was more, Maitimo mused while studying the younger Finwion, also a first son. Indeed there was more: a fullness to Findekáno’s lips; a glimmer of anticipation that lit his blue eyes, rendering him more beautiful than the stars of Varda (so Maitimo imagined); and his hair, long and thick, black like the precious absence of light Maitimo witnessed in the lightless caves he explored with his father in the outer reaches of Aman. Maitimo observed the flush of color bloom on Findekáno’ cheeks, the anticipation of what lay ahead, exhilarating. An elf--a generation younger than Maitimo and unknown to him--secured a blindfold tightly around Findekáno’s eyes. Maitimo laughed, now too Findekáno was lost to darkness, ready to partake in the silly games of youth just reaching their majority, the first dalliances of forbidden touches, or so it was said, and so Maitimo believed of Findekáno. Blindfold secure, an elf placed a red flower under Findekáno’s nose, instructing him that his goal was to seek the flower, using only his sense of smell. Upon finding the flower (and the bearer of the flower), all was allowed. It was a wicked and sensual game, the likes of which left the players with fond memories to last an eternity. Findekáno laughed breathlessly while he was spun around, his quivering fingers giving away his anticipation of the erotic escapades that awaited him. Now dizzy, Findekáno stumbled about the garden, his arms flailing about him. His friends dispersed quietly into the garden, though Maitimo did not notice who won the right to be the keeper of the red flower.

 

“Ah to be the holder of that flower,” Maitimo whispered into the night, watching Findekáno disappear into the outer limits of the hedge maze. Maitimo’s younger cousin moved him, moved him in his desires, provoked a yearning that Maitimo could not satiate. Maitimo felt his own lips ghost kisses upon a vision of Findekáno he conjured, the younger Finwion trembling in his arms, a young thing, loosing his innocence, Maitimo taking it all for himself. Maitimo’s fantasy was interrupted by a shout from within the maze. No doubt Findekáno had happened upon a holder of another flower, not the one meant for Findekáno. Maitimo was about to make his way to find his own friends, when, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a red flower on the ground. “It could not be!” Maitimo thought to himself. Swiftly walking over to it, Maitimo bent over to study the flower. It was the Red Star indeed! Maitimo surveyed the area around him. Had someone dropped it on purpose playing some other kind of game, seeing who would be interested in being the object of Findekáno’s attention? Not a soul, not a sound. Eerie, Maitimo thought. Picking up the flower Maitimo let out a laugh and disappeared into the maze, hoping he could make Findekáno’s search easier.

 

)()()()()(

 

Findekáno paused, his hands trailing the tall hedges guiding his path along the maze. Holding his head up he inhaled deeply. Jasmine? Of course! “Not Jasmine,” Findekáno called out, “though my hands desire to touch the delicate petals I seek the ire of red metal, a flower like iron and wine!”

 

“No cheer here,” a man’s voice whispered into Findekáno’s ears, “My metal is hard.”

 

Findekáno laughed, offering his own colorful comeback, “Then find a smith to strike the metal my friend for this hammer seeks another.” The laughter of his friend disappeared into the garden. No doubt his friend was headed back to where those not lucky enough to be the bearers of the red metal, the crimson star flower, so called for its strong and heady smell and petals that were pliable and strong, like metal under the hammer of a smith. Thus Findekáno continued on his errand, discovering lilac here and moonflower there, but no Red Star. Was there none desiring of a passion-filled encounter with him? Surely not, Findekáno fretted momentarily, but smugly he dismissed these thoughts. He knew better than that. Of course the handsome first-born son of Nolofinwë knew such ideas were preposterous, but yet the doubt lingered.

 

Findekáno heard the flutter of butterfly wings, disturbed from their repose. Turning his head in the direction of the fluttering wings, he caught the singular scent of the Red Star, the red metal, the flower of Aulë incarnate some said, gifted by Yavanna. His heart racing, Findekáno made his way towards the scent, his hands hastily guiding him in the direction of his prize. “Closer now,” he whispered, hoping his voice would find the bearer of the Red Star. His hands felt the hedge end abruptly. A new direction, Findekáno mused, his hands blindly feeling their way in darkness. The hedge now circled in. He was heading towards the center. How thrilling, Findekáno thought to himself, anticipation making his heart beat more wildly. Following the circuitous path, the scent of the peculiar flower filled his nose, his heart quickening with anticipation. Findekáno held his breath as he reached his destination, a place Findekáno knew so well, a place so intimate to him since childhood: the center of the hedge maze where the only way back was through him. So, he thought to himself, my intended lover is here.

 

Letting out his breath, Findekáno inhaled deeply, the singular aroma filling him, moving him to arousal. Ahhh, Findekáno sighed, now he understood why certain flowers held such aphrodisiacal sentiment for elder elves. Indeed the Red Star would be his forever, his and who ever bore it. But whoever stood near him said not a word. “Funny,” Findekáno quipped, “that here at the center of the maze, where so many games of childhood concluded in victory, I find a different sort of victory.” Findekáno paused hoping the holder of the Red Star would speak, and of course, as was custom, the elf stayed silent. Findekáno’s smile grew bolder as he advanced to the center. “Silly these games, are they not?” Findekáno whispered, reaching his hand out, only to encounter the touch of another, like a whisper on his skin, though it struck him like lightning. Findekáno reached out with his other hand, landing on the chest of that whom he pursued.  A man, Findekáno’s smile broadened. “Here at the end of the this place, I find you. Let me taste you...”

 

)()()()()(

 

Maitimo’s eyes widened in surprise as Findekáno pulled him into a kiss. Findekáno’s lips, soft at first, ghosting over Maitimo’s, searched their target for a taste. Findekáno breathed in his lover’s breath, weaving a spell around the two. Maitimo found himself melting into Findekáno, undone by the surprisingly confident kisses of the younger elf. Findekáno felt his partner’s body relax into his arms, eliciting him to deepen the kiss, a kiss that was moment by moment becoming wild and intoxicating, conjuring a different type of enchantment. It was erotic, the battling of mouths and tongues. Maitimo found he was lost in Findekáno’s sorcery. So the tables had turned, Maitimo paused, pulling himself away to devour the sight of Findekáno aroused, lips red and swollen. Findekáno would have none of it, pulling Maitimo back into his arms. Soon the two elves were tearing away clothes, desperate in their search for bare skin, covetous of the feel of fingers upon the raw, electric current that was naked skin. Findekáno was no innocent, no quivering youth needing to be taught the ways of esoteric love between two men. No, Findekáno absolved him self of those manners. Maitimo discovered an elf that gave no heed to the customs of two men joined in passion. In Findekáno there was a different fire, a fire, Maitimo imagined, that could only be kindled in the Outerlands: Forbidden!

 

Findekáno felt that monster emerge within him, uncontrollable, craving, licentious. In that instant, he recognized the monster from childhood stories, stories of caution and warning shared with innocent and impressionable children. But this was no monster. NO!! This was passion devoid of morality, devoid of law. It existed because it was conjured into being by this fire between two people. Findekáno did not fear the monster. He gave himself to his desire, devouring, burning his lover. The lovers tumbled to the ground, wrapped in one another, their nude bodies pressed tightly against one another, the friction of their movement creating universes of energy that would not dissipate, making their way across the waters to the Outerlands and to the stars above, stars that were fed on that silvery night by the essence of earthly creation.

 

Maitimo was being consumed, consumed as Findekáno stroked his hard length, taking him to the edge of ecstasy. Maitimo felt Findekáno’s large member against him, sliding against his own. He reveled in the feeling of Findekáno taking both of them in his own hand. He was merciless. Oh Nolofinwë’s first born, he was a revelation! How blind Maitimo had been! How silly to think that one of Finwë’s brood would cling to innocence. That was not meant for those of that line. Oh Findekáno, Maitimo groaned, unable to contain himself. Findekáno let out a cry into Maitimo’s neck, bringing them both to completion, their essence spilling out into the hot, sticky night.

 

)()()()()(

 

Neither spoke, their bodies coming back down, descending from the heights of their dizzy lovemaking. Findekáno breathed into Maitimo’s neck, inhaling his lover’s scent. “I know you,” Findekáno finally whispered, “but I cannot place you.”

 

Maitimo hesitated, pulling away briefly from Findekáno’s hold. Findekáno made to remove the blindfold that miraculously remained steadfast over his eyes, but Maitimo pulled Findekáno’s hands away from the cloth. “No,” Maitimo whispered, hoping not to give himself away.

 

Findekáno smiled, falling onto his back to catch his breath. “Of course, if possible, you are to remain unknown to me, for now. But,” Findekáno paused, passing strands of Maitimo’s hair between his fingers. “I know this hair, do I not?” Findekáno added, confused by the feelings of familiarity he had with his lover. Though his lover was familiar, he was also a stranger to him. Findekáno felt his lover’s fingers trace his lips and place a kiss upon them. Findekáno made to pull his lover back into him, but his lover put a hand between them that held Findekáno’s clothes. Of course this tryst was done, for those were the ways of the game. Though Findekáno reluctantly slipped his clothes on, aided by the stranger, he felt obliged by a strange feeling growing inside him, that he needed to, once again, break with rules.

 

“I need to know who you are,” Findekáno whispered. The rustling of his companion stopped. Findekáno heard a muffled laugh, as if the stranger was laughing into his arms to keep his voice from being recognized. And then he was gone. Findekáno heard the footsteps running away, circling out from him. Findekáno made to chase but realized he had not laced his boots. Ripping his blindfold off, Findekáno frantically searched around him but could not find him. Who was he? He certainly did not recognize him for one of his friends. Findekáno would have known immediately which one of them it was. Such a mystery, Findekáno thought to himself. How? How had this stranger come in possession of the Red Star?

 

Findekáno slowly, languorously, made his way out of the maze, gathering his thoughts, bringing in the threads of his being that had dispersed out to the stars. Gently, he made himself whole, weaving through quiet Song a semblance of Findekáno, though his Song was changed. He had exploded into what seemed an infinite cosmos, knowing himself beyond the bounds of Arda, but now he was Findekáno, yet he was also made anew. Something of his lover was in him now, irrevocably bound to him. It was a bit disconcerting and wholly exhilarating!  


Upon reuniting with his friends, Findekáno interrogated them, demanding to know who the stranger was. Nobody knew who he was. Indeed one of the young maidens, the original bearer of the Red Star, explained that it had inexplicably slipped from her hand and she fervently searched for it to no avail. At first Findekáno could not fathom such a story, so convinced that his friends had orchestrated the entire event, but soon enough Findekáno was persuaded their story was indeed true! What misfortune for her, but what fortune for Findekáno, they all agreed, for it seemed the stranger offered what the grandest tales whispered about.

 

)()()()(

 

‘Findekáno!” Nolofinwë called out to his eldest. “Make haste! I do not want to arrive late and stay late,” his father harrumphed.

 

“Indeed!” Findekáno retorted, running down the stairs to find his impatient father waiting by the open door. Undeniably his father did not want to arrive late and stay any later than required at Fëanáro’s home. Fëanáro and his family had recently returned from their trips to the outer reaches of Aman and thus the family was attending the very unusual dinner at Fëanáro’s home, insisted upon by Anairë and Nerdanel, to reacquaint the families.

 

Anairë scooted back into the house, her belly heavy with child. “Do not forget the Telerin wine!” she called out to Findekáno, Turukáno close behind her, skulking, in keeping with his adolescence. Findekáno held up the bottle, showing it to his mother.

 

“Enough. Let us leave,” Nolofinwë urged, more rough than was usual for the usually good-natured son of Indis and Finwë.

 

The family piled into the carriage and was whisked away towards the Crown Prince’s home. Not a word was said during the short carriage ride for all knew that Nolofinwë had no desire to go to his half-brother’s home and engage in forced camaraderie. Surely, one or the other of the brothers would say something untoward, which would end up in an argument and an early cessation of the evening’s activities.

 

Findekáno was half interested in the family drama, being more consumed with memories of that night he shared with his unknown lover. He had to be careful. If he let his mind wander too deeply into the memories of that night, he would find his skin grow hot, his breathing shallow, his lover’s kisses upon him. Yet he was also curious about his uncle and aunt and their sons. There was the eldest Nelyafinwë, followed by Kanafinwë, then the intolerable Turkafinwë, who was the same age as Findekáno, and the child Morofinwë, born in the years of Fëanáro’s long departure from Tirion. Findekáno had fond memories of Fëanáro’s eldest sons, whom he knew more intimately as Maitimo and Kano, having spent time with them in his youth and adolescence. Not to mention Turko, who Findekáno could not stand, though he considered it was more likely because they were the same age and undoubtedly meant to annoy one another.

 

Upon arriving at Fëanáro’s home, the Nolofinwions unceremoniously piled out of the carriage, each member unwilling to head towards what was certainly going to be a miserable evening. Except Anairë, she bounded ahead with that usual stubborn grace of hers, pulling Turukáno behind her and pushing Nolofinwë ahead of her, leaving Findekáno to trail behind, which he obediently did.

 

Nerdanel stood at the open door, her sons standing quietly behind her, from smallest to tallest. Fëanáro was a mere shadow behind the door. The women hugged and the sons politely greeted each other, though upon setting eyes on Findekáno, Maitimo’s fair face turned a deep shade of crimson. “It is hot in here,” he turned to his father, trying to excuse himself. “None of that,” Fëanáro retorted pushing his son forward, watching as Nolofinwë warmly greeted his sons who behaved fairly civilized. Fëanáro was quietly thankful for that, though Maitimo was being unusually difficult.

 

Findekáno gifted Maitimo a big smile, confident and open, so very like Findekáno. He had done the same for Kano, yet been more reserved with Turko. Turko likewise eyed his cousin warily, sizing him up, both surprised at how much the other had grown. Kano had said as much to Findekáno who beamed with joy to be reacquainted with his favorite cousin that first taught him music. Findekáno turned his eyes towards Maitimo, openly looking him up and down. “Well-formed indeed cousin, you are grace personified,” Findekáno cooed openly.

 

Maitimo shuffled backwards, bumping into his father, his hands nervously rubbing his neck. Hearing his father clear his throat, Maitimo mustered his courage, “And you Findekáno. Time has seen you grow into your own grace as well.” Not so bad, Maitimo thought to himself, honest, but not blubbering.

 

“Well met!” Findekáno enthusiastically replied, hugging his cousin.

 

Maitimo stiffened slightly. Findekáno noticed and quickly retreated, though there was something terribly familiar about Maitimo in that moment. Not familiar like the Nelyafinwë he remembered from his youth. Something different. What that was Findekáno did not have time to consider for his father and Fëanáro were now exchanging words, the atmosphere tense with apprehension.

 

Fëanáro smiled and warmly invited the Nolofinwions into his home. The gathered elves sighed. The first potential guffaws of the evening were avoided. Findekáno glanced at Maitimo while his family was led to a sitting area where the group shared aperitifs before dinner, a custom insisted upon by Finwë. Maitimo avoided making eye contact with Findekáno, which the latter found strange, but not overly so. Maybe the eldest son of Fëanáro was shy, Findekáno considered, though that would certainly cause grief for his uncle Fëanáro. Findekáno smiled to himself at the thought, causing Maitimo--who was stealing longing glances at Findekáno--to wonder what caused his half-cousin to smile so beautifully.

 

Soon the sons of Finwë and their families were gathered at dinner, surprisingly enjoying their polite conversation. Fëanáro’s tales of Aman were captivating, and his sons’ (with the exception of Maitimo) peppered the stories with details. Nerdanel was silent and observant, ready to interrupt if needed. Findekáno was so caught up with the tales he no longer noticed Maitimo, who sat as far away as he could from his cousin, Findekáno, the cousin with the bright blue eyes and golden skin that made Maitimo’s loins ache.

 

Once dinner was concluded, Nerdanel led the motley crew into the garden where they sat to take their digestif. It was there that Findekáno caught the slight scent of a familiar flower. Maitimo had long disappeared, making an excuse to help with the drinks.  Findekáno excused himself, saying he wanted to explore Nerdanel’s gardens, which was seen as such a polite and gallant move on Findekáno’s part.

 

Findekáno found himself falling into a trance-like state, his eyes closing, while he pursued the singular smell. He meandered through a series of trails that led to a secluded glade. Drunk with memories of that night, his eyes fell upon a sight in the middle of the glade. Oh fortune, he thought to himself, for in the middle of the glade the Red Star stood, its petals curling in the wind, calling for a lover returned. Reverently, Findekáno knelt before it, saying a prayer before he cut the stem from the plant. Upon his lips he felt the ghost-like memory of another’s lips, tasted their sweetness, smelled his lover upon him, like grass wet with the dew at the mingling of the lights. Breathing deeply, Findekáno got a hold of himself, but from the pit of his stomach a Song grew. His lover’s song, aspects of the melody Findekáno had woven into himself, a song familiar, a song Findekáno recognized. Findekáno gasped, a song he heard once more mere moments ago! Findekáno stood, hastily making his way back to the families. He spied Maitimo going into the home. “Maitimo,” Findekáno called out, “might I be of some aid?” Findekáno hoped Maitimo didn’t hear the nervousness in his voice.

 

Maitimo’s body stiffened before he turned to address Findekáno. “Of course,” Maitimo hesitated, hastily pulling his feelings back towards his center, quieting his song, but not quickly enough that Findekáno had not heard the familiar notes. “Follow me,” Maitimo added, turning abruptly and heading back towards the kitchens. Findekáno ran up, catching up behind Maitimo, a familiar scent trailing him, though Maitimo dared not turn to see what that was. Maitimo, instead, did quick work of piling cakes on a tray and headed back out to the gardens, bumping into Findekáno, who trailed close behind him. “Apologies Findekáno,” Maitimo’s words stumbled out.

 

Findekáno laughed, in that peculiar, confident way of his, so unusual for one so young, but Findekáno was not like the rest of them, Maitimo considered. Of course he wasn’t, he was Finwion. Findekáno took the tray from Maitimo with one hand and from behind his back he revealed the Red Star flower. “Here,” Findekáno offered, his voice quieter, “I think this belongs to you.” Findekáno’s eyes fluttered up to look at Maitimo’s. Though he exuded confidence, Findekáno was falling apart, his bold Song undone.

 

Maitimo’s mouth was agape. Findekáno hesitated when Maitimo did not move to take the flower. “Thank you,” the words finally tumbled out of Maitimo’s mouth, reaching for the red flower. For a moment their fingers touched, a shock of energy passing between them. Their Songs merged, the notes weaving, crescendoing, threatening to spill beyond the borders of their intimate cosmos.

 

“Maitimo, the cakes!” Fëanáro’s booming voice interrupted the moment shared between the two.

 

Like magic, Findekáno’s face contorted into that brilliant smile and laughing, he took the tray with cakes back to the waiting elves, pausing to share a brief look with Maitimo. Maitimo, it seemed was stuck to the spot he stood in. Findekáno was truly a sorcerer, a conjurer of desires. Maitimo’s gaze fixed on Findekáno while the younger elf served the cakes, sharing warm words with Nerdanel.

 

“Did you enjoy my garden?” Nerdanel asked Findekáno.

 

Findekáno spied Maitimo heading towards the group, his gaze locked on him. “Oh indeed! It is magical.  I found a most special flower in that garden.”

 

“Oh and which flower was it?” Nerdanel inquired.

 

“A Red Star,” Findekáno responded.

 

“Strange,” Nerdanel pondered, “I do not remember one of those out in my gardens, but it is a most welcome guest!” Nerdanel beamed. A Red Star was a rare flower, difficult to tend, but when it bloomed, it was said to bring good fortune.

 

Findekáno noticed Maitimo hiding the flower behind him. “Tis indeed a most welcome guest: beautiful and fierce.” Maitimo could not help smiling at that. Findekáno briefly glanced up over Nerdanel to catch sight of Maitimo, causing him to blush as he spied Maitimo’s shy smile. Maitimo cast his own spells, a soft silvery magic, gentle and tentative- a perfect companion to Findekáno’s bold sorcery. There was never a doubt in Findekáno’s mind that what had transpired between he and Maitimo was wrong.

 

“Its scent is unique-” Findekáno offered, causing Maitimo to start, it was unique like the harmonious song of Findekáno and Maitimo.

 

Fëanáro interjected, “The red metal, like the forge fire is a jealous bloom, conjured only by great passion.” Fëanáro turned to look at Maitimo, spying the flower in his hand. “I see,” Fëanáro exclaimed, “of course such a flower would bloom by my eldest’ hand. Has your heart been claimed my son?” Fëanáro was not known for being discrete.

 

Findekáno smiled as Maitimo cast his eyes downward, his father’s words embarrassing him. This was not the outgoing cousin Findekáno remembered from years ago, nor the elf that laid waste to him on that silvery night. But from deep within a fire kindled in Maitimo and he raised his head, almost defying his father, but not quite. Never that.  

 

“Oh father if only you knew the vision I have perceived: Noldorin black beset by the bluest eyes I have ever seen.” There was nothing for it. Maitimo was unabashedly flirting with his younger cousin, half-cousin, though his family was dumb before it. “I might run to this person,” Maitimo continued, taking a tentative step towards Findekáno, “If said longing was not reciprocated, I would run to them and tell them to send me from Tirion for I could not dare withstand the rejection.” Maitimo was purposefully vague.

 

Not a one night occurrence, not a dalliance, not a once in a lifetime, Findekáno wanted to cry out. No, this fire between them, rekindled, reforged itself and consumed them. Findekáno closed his eyes momentarily to witness their lovemaking: their caresses were hard, unrestrained, their kisses rough, hands desperate in their dance, their bodies grinding against one other. That line between what could be and should not be was broken. Prurient and hallowed, their desire burned, burned hotter than any forge kindled in Aulë’s keep. Too hot, too bright. Findekáno’s eyes fluttered open, the depth of what transpired between the two dawning on him. Their family surrounded him, pleased with what they believed to be Maitimo finally finding a maiden to settle with. Little could they know another type of Song was revealing itself.

 

Maitimo saw the apprehension in his young lover’s eyes. _There_ was the innocence Maitimo had so hungered for. While Findekáno was bold as a lover, he was innocent as one in love. Maitimo wanted to run, take Findekáno’s hand and head back into the less traveled parts of Aman where he could at once ravage him and tenderly kiss away that apprehension.

 

Nerdanel stood as Maitimo walked over to her, stealing glances of Findekáno. “Oh son, this gives me great joy. But certainly you know if she corresponds your affection?”

 

“I know not,” Maitimo answered earnestly. “But I do know this,” Maitimo added, confessing, “when I first saw _her_ upon my return to Tirion, a hunger awoke in me for _her_. So beautiful she is, so bright and bold.”

 

Findekáno’s eyes widened at Maitimo’s confession. Findekáno hesitated, his love for Maitimo, so long had been only the adoration of an adolescent, but now it was a raging fire Findekáno could not contain. This love, fallen from the sky like the stories of the falling stars in the Outerlands, it netted him, burned him, surprised him: it was more than carnal desire. Luckily everyone’s attention was focused on Maitimo.

 

Fëanáro stood up and raised his glass. “I doubt your love will not be returned. I cannot tell you how much joy this brings me my son, for now I see it, see the spirit about you.”

 

“To Maitimo,” the gathered elves toasted. Findekáno raised his glass to Maitimo, adding after everyone’s toast, “To love!” which elicited hearty approvals. Maitimo tipped his glass in Findekáno’s direction, whispering, “I’ll drink to that.”

 

~*~*~*~

_The end_

**Author's Note:**

> *I use the convention of night and day to mark the light of Telperion and Laurelin.
> 
> *The idea of Finwions being bold and sexy as a sort of trait is borrowed from Spiced Wine’s stories. Her Finwions are delicious, brash, and sexy. The idea of elves and Song is a story element I like in fanfiction, particularly in Ziggy’s Legolas-centric stories, which I use here. Alas, there are probably more influences here, but I am not catching them. I always like to honor those fanfic folks who have influenced my own take on middle earth.


End file.
